


Yuri!!! On Silks

by governess_of_floods



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (But the drinking happens in Europe where it's totes legal), (Just thought I'd say anyway), (in the US), Aerial silks, Drinking, F/M, Glastonbury, M/M, Mild Language, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drinking, Yes I don't know why they'd go to a British music festival either, ice skaters in summer, just go with it okay?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-09-15 10:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9230693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/governess_of_floods/pseuds/governess_of_floods
Summary: Chris has dragged a bunch of skaters to Glastonbury. Yuuri is an aerial silks performer and he's HOT.Victor is a little bit smitten.(Or: the Glastonbury AU no one asked for).





	1. Chapter 1

The afternoon August sun dripped gold over Somerset fields. As Victor crested the hill, the festival site finally in view below him, he had to admit that it looked pretty fucking cool.

Glastonbury, eh? Tents below rose like a fantasy circus, twisted stripes and bright colours and canvas spires reaching to the sky. There was a ferris wheel in the distance. Pennants flew in the summer breeze. Someone behind them was blowing bubbles, which wobbled shimmeringly into the blue sky.

It was Chris's idea, obviously. “Let's do a festival together! All of us. It'll be loads of fun.”

He'd winked, and of course though they'd taken a little convincing, in the end they'd all gone with it. Chris was pretty on it when it came to things being fun; Victor didn't know if he'd ever seen him anywhere even approaching boring. Or was it that anywhere with Chris was automatically not boring? Even in the bombastic world of figure skating, Chris was a party-hard ball of charisma.

So, anyway, here they were, Chris, Victor, Emil, Mickey, Sara and Mila, tents in hand, wellie boots on (Chris had emphasised _strongly_ the importance of wellie boots at a British festival), at Glastonbury. Because of course when Chris said “a festival”, he meant something iconic and gargantuan.

“Stop, everyone!” Mila said, suddenly, from the back of the group. They turned to her, as she held her camera up and snapped a picture.

“First festival picture!” she grinned, her red hair bright in the sun.

Then her smile shifted to something a little wickeder. “It's important to get the _before_ as well as the _after._ ”

“I'm going to be good as gold, darling.” Chris said. “And wake up beautiful every morning.”

Sara giggled. “You're awful.”

“So you'll be coming to yoga every morning with me then? It starts at 8 but with all those early nights you'll be having, shouldn't be too hard, no?” Mickey said, his eyes glinting.

“I saw there's morning yoga, too!” said Mila. “I think we should go.”

“Let's dance all night and then go straight to yoga.” Emil suggested.

Victor could see he wasn't going to get much sleep that weekend.

 

*******************************

 Given that none of them had done much camping before, putting up the tents was surprisingly painless. In no time at all the group of skaters had pitched camp – three big tents, the girls in one, Mickey and Emil in the second, Chris and Victor in the third, with a gazebo in the centre covering all three entrances – unrolled their bedding, found their alcohol and were sitting on the grass under the gazebo.

“Are we nearly ready to festival?” said Chris, standing up. “I'm just going to get changed. Get yo glitter on, fam.”

He slid into the open tent.

"Don't ever use that word again." Victor groaned.

"Sorry fam."

There was a pause.

"Not my fault I'm down with the youth, fam."

"I'll come in there and get you."

Chris laughed, and shut up.

“Did you say you'd brought face paint, Mila?” Mickey asked. “Can I borrow some?”

Mila wordlessly reached into the girls' tent and produced an enormous make-up bag. She set it down in the centre, zipped it open and gestured to it with a flourish. “For everyone!”

“Oh my god, Mila!” Sara laughed. “So. Much. Glitter.”

“NO.” Emil said, stepping back and clutching at his chin dramatically.

“Pleaseeeeeeeeeeee?” Sara asked sweetly.

“She's been sending me pictures of glitter beards for weeks – Mickey, keep your sister in check!”

“The fuck is a glitter beard?””

“It's where you make your whole beard glittery. It looks really cool.” Sara explained. “You can do them rainbow colours or ombre or just, you know, GLITTER.”

“Ah, I reckon it'd look good on you, _amico_.”

“You traitor!”

“I think it'd look amazing, too.” Victor joined in the teasing with a bright smile.

Mila went around the circle, dabbing sky-blue glitter onto their cheekbones.

“Are you nearly done, Chris? Come and let me glitter you.”

“It's harder than it sounds, putting leggings on in a tent.” Chris's voice emerged from the canvas.

“Do you want a hand, mate?” Victor laughed.

“Haha. Fuck off.”

“Champion Swiss skater baffled by putting clothes on.”

“To be fair, I'm much better at taking them off.”

“Champion Swiss skater had better hurry up or we'll go without him.”

“Also, we'll drink all the rum.”

“Kiss all the girls.”

“And all the men.”

“Dance to all the music.”

“OOF.” said Chris. “Right. I'm ready.”

The tent flap drew back like a stage curtain, to reveal…

“Wow.” said Victor.

Chris was dazzling, in skin-tight golden leggings and a sequinned waistcoat. In one ear dangled a feather earring. “Glitter me up, baby.” he grinned at Mila.

“I'm going to glitter your whole chest.”

“Groovy.”

 

****************************************

In the end, they sat and drank for an hour or so more, revelling in the pre-sunset light and the strains of music already curling through the campsite like soft smoke.

Emil produced a joint.

“You naughty boy.” Mickey said, passing him a lighter.

Emil winked.

They passed the joint round until they were all a little giggly.

“Babes.” Chris said. “I love this so much and we haven't even gone on site yet. Let's go and dance.”

With only slightly wobbly legs, they all readied themselves to go, drunk on excitement and youth and quite a bit of rum.

Chris took Victor's arm like a princess at a ball. “Right, my beauties. Tally-ho!”

 

***********************************************

 

This was so great, Victor thought. Why had he never been to festivals like this before? He was in a tent with projected lights swirling like colour-changing jellyfish – like the inside of a lava lamp – dancing to a spoken word-electro-sitar group with a bass saxophone soloist. This was so great. Chris was having a dance-off with someone dressed as a disco ball. Mila and Mickey were dancing what looked like the can-can with a group of kids in flower crowns. Sara and Emil… ooh. Sara and Emil were dancing by themselves, eyes lit up.

This was so good.

Swirly, though. Everything was moving quite a lot. And warm. Maybe he'd just…

Victor felt himself turn slightly green, and dashed out of the dance tent into a group of trees.

Afterwards he felt a lot better. The moon was out, lighting the field brightly, and the night air was blue and just the right amount of cool.

He didn't feel like going back inside quite yet.

Turning into the trees, he wandered through, away from the main festival. It was quiet here; still a little too early for people to leave the dance tents, too late for people to still be here from the afternoon. The music grew fainter.

Something ahead of Victor gave a rustle.

Victor stopped. What was that, hanging from the tree ahead?

The shape billowed out. Cloth.

It was a long strip of cloth hanging from a high branch in a small clearing, in front of what was clearly a small stage in the daytime. Now, however, on the first night of the festival, the stage and clearing were quiet and still.

The moon had been behind a bank of cloud, and now slipped out to light the clearing in silvery light.

There was movement behind the cloth.

As Victor watched, a slim male figure took hold of the diaphanous folds, lifted an elegant leg up, and gracefully climbed up like he was light as air.

Then he wrapped his legs round the cloth, let go with his hands, and curved his body round to hang upside down, swinging back up with an insouciance that left Victor's heart feeling like it had left his body.

High in the air, the boy flew, pose to beautiful pose like he was utterly weightless.

Victor wondered how strong he must be to make it look that elegant.

Footsteps came up behind him.

“Victor!” Chris's voice sounded in his ear, only slightly hushed by the stillness of the trees. “I found you!”

The boy dropped down to the ground.

Slightly dazed, Victor allowed Chris to lead him back to the rush of noise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't seen aerial silks before, imagine Yuuri dancing this: https://youtu.be/rNFxquGqkT4?t=48


	2. Chapter 2

They didn't make it to yoga the following morning.

When Victor's eyes creaked open, the sun was bright and shining in a very yellow way. Beside him, Chris lay peacefully sleeping, long eyelashes making him look indecently innocent. He had lipstick smudged on his cheek, Victor noted.

It was a day where they all wore sunglasses.

***********************************************************************************************

They were all fit, healthy athletes, though; by early evening they were all fully recovered and ready to dance some more. They sat in the campsite boiling water for instant noodles and poring over the listings in the festival programme.

“I want to see Jagwar Ma. And Too Many Zoos.” Mickey offered.

“We _have_ to see Sigur Ros.” Mila murmured. “And what was it you wanted to see, Sara?”

“I'd quite like to see Ushti Baba, they're not on till tomorrow though.”

“Victor?”

“I'm happy to wander.” Victor tried to project an aura of cool, go-with-the-flow serenity. In actual fact, however, it was mainly that he'd heard of almost none of the acts.

“There's a circus tent.” Emil said. “We should pop in there at some point.”

“Is there anything you want to see, Chris?”

Chris was the least recovered of all of them. He lay on the grass, a top hat covering his face. (Where had he got a top hat from?)

“There is a heaven on earth.” Chris's voice emerged, muffled only slightly by his headgear. “And it's called Shangri-La.”

There was a pause.

“Is that a stage?” Emil asked.

“It's a magical place.”

“Why is it magic?” Sara asked, catching Chris's melodramatic tone.

“You can only find it in the dead of night.”

“Oooh.”

***********************************************************************************************

Chris was often prone to exaggeration, but Shangri-La _was_ actually magical, Victor thought. The festival so far had been a whirl of joy; they'd bopped heads in the front row of sets, close enough to touch the musicians, made five-minute dancing friends, and gone on an enormous helter-skelter. More events for adults should have helter-skelters, they all agreed. Maybe the next Grand Prix banquet organisers could be persuaded?

They'd laughed until their stomachs hurt at Mickey and Emil's more and more outrageous dancing, and sipped from a smuggled hipflask of cheap, acrid whisky. With not much time in their rigorous day-to-day training schedules to do much besides skate, cutting loose like this was a gift which they all intended to savour to the full. Victor felt warm and fuzzy and loved. _Friends._ These were the first friends he'd done this kind of thing with; although he had always been popular, he was also somewhat reserved and focused on skating. Chris had been the first person to break through his shell, to be a friend that he could not only give support to – Victor had a warm heart and would offer help to anyone if he could – but who he could ask for help from. This festival was amazing already.

But Shangri-La was otherworldly. As Chris promised, it was only possible to find at night; in a twisting, turning corner of the festival, a passage closed in daylight was opened up. It led into darkness, with trailing vines and… was that a waterfall?

It was a waterfall, with a cave beyond. Inside the cave was a DJ playing trance. The skaters danced through, out to the other side, where… “Wow.” breathed Mila.

A temple rose above them, jungle vines and trees creeping up its cracked rocks. Different buildings surrounded it, lights and music pumping out of each one.

“Welcome,” Chris declaimed, “to the land of the night people! Welcome… to Shangri-La!”

“Haven't you been here, like, once before?” Mickey said sarcastically.

“It's a place of debauchery. My soul knows it's home.” Chris answered, with a filthy grin. “Who's got the whisky?”

 *******************************************************************************************************************************************************************

By half-one in the morning, none of them were quite sure where they were any more. In a dystopian structure, they jostled shoulders with cyberpunks and Fleetwood Mac lookalikes. Techno – was it techno? Victor wasn't amazing at categorising dance music – thrilled their bodies to the bone (literally. Victor could feel his collarbone vibrating). Above their heads, a platform held an ever-changing variety of performers, all aesthetically aligned with the post-apocalyptic décor of the venue. Like a macabre cabaret after a zombie attack.

Chris was very drunk, and dancing with a slim, elfishly gothic girl. Emil and Sara stood in a corner, whispering to each other. Emil's arm was round Sara's waist.

Mickey noticed a split second after Victor did and his face tinged a shade of purple. He headed over to the pair swiftly, Mila following him.

Victor was just about to join them, when he looked up, and… oh.

The next performer had climbed the ladder and was high on the parapet above.

Like all the performers, his costume was stunning – black, artfully torn net with just a hint of glitter, stretched across one side of his chest, his legs and one arm. Long feathers snaked petrol-black round his hips, trailing low enough that the boy's Adonis belt was clearly visible. A trail of feathers twisted softly up to his neck, and his hair was jet-black and gelled back. His eyelids were heavy with kohl and dusted with glitter.

_The boy from last night._

As Victor watched, the boy shot a glance into the crowd. Licked his lips.

Victor gulped.

The boy reached out to the silks hanging in front of him, lifting himself into the air. Like it was easy as breathing, he swung himself upside down, stretching his legs to straddle either side of the silks. Twisting one leg up and around, he stretched, a long thin crescent moon of a boy hanging from a slim ankle. He pulled himself back up, split the silks in two, and, wrapped around both ankles this time, lowered into a split. He looked down at the crowd below, the waves of dancing bodies. And Victor standing still, eyes blown wide, watching him.

The boy winked, sinfully.

Victor forgot how to breathe.

Someone landed on his back. “Victor!” Mila pouted. “Why aren't you dancing?”

He grinned, and turned round to the other four skaters (by this point, Chris had disappeared). “This is amazing!”

Then he broke out the least cool dance moves he could think of, just to make them giggle.

Victor kept an eye on the platform though, possibly less subtly than he thought he did. “Do you faaaaancy him?” Mila laughed.

Victor stuck his tongue out at her. The tops of his ears went red, but luckily it was dark enough that no-one would notice…

“He does, his ears have gone red.” Sara noted. Victor showed her his middle finger and blushed a bit more. Friends were great most of the time, but maybe these ones knew him a little too well.

All too soon, the boy on the silks finished his routine and swung himself back to the platform. As a Thai boy began breathing fire, Victor watched the silks boy slip away to a backstage area.

 _I need some fresh air_ , Victor thought.

Letting the other skaters know, he headed out into the night air. _So much cooler._ His head was whirling, and not just from whisky (not that he'd had much whisky, anyway). He was hyper-aware of the push of blood around his body. He took deep breaths, looked up at the stars, and sighed. _You're a hopeless romantic, Victor Nikiforov._

He stood there for a few minutes longer. Was just about to stretch and return to the dance, when he became aware of someone close by.

“What are you thinking?” a soft, lightly accented voice asked.

Victor looked up.

In a plain black vest and sweatpants, although still with glitter on his face, the boy from the silks stood, cloth bunched under one arm nonchalantly.

And Victor wasn't anywhere near as nervous as he knew he logically should have been, because in this moment the boy seemed utterly unreal.

“I was thinking about you.” he admitted.

The boy grinned. “Smooth talker, eh?”

Victor blushed.

“I'm Yuuri. Want to come for a walk with me?”

“I'm Victor. I'd love to.”

 

 *****************************************************************************************************

Yuuri took him through the quiet parts of Shangri-La, and out into another patch of trees. Victor found out that Yuuri was Japanese, doing a summer of festivals in the UK although he was studying at college in Detroit, and that no matter how hard Victor looked at him, he was permanently terrifyingly beautiful.

“How long have you been doing silks for?” Victor asked. “It looks so beautiful.”

“Not that long, to be honest. A couple of years? I've always done some kind of dancing though.” Yuuri looked at Victor, contemplatively. Yuuri's gaze sent a shiver over Victor's skin.

“You look fairly strong, actually. Do you want to try?”

Victor was strong. And flexible; years of skating backed up by ballet training had ensured that. But he wasn't sure if he could climb like Yuuri could. He hesitated.

“Don't worry,” Yuuri said, close and soft and low, “I'll hold you, you won't fall.”

And there was no way Victor could say no after that.

Yuuri hung the silks from a strong branch in the trees, and demonstrated.

“This is one of the basic moves. It's called a French climb.” He lifted his right leg, twisted it outside and inside the silk, and let it hang over the arch of his foot. “So you twist… like that, so you're secure. Then you pull yourself up from your arms, put your other foot on top, and stand up.”

And like that, Yuuri was off the ground. “Then you unwrap your legs, and do it again.” He climbed up a couple of metres above the ground, then looked down, suddenly wide eyed. “Don't climb too high though, I don't have a crash mat.”

Yuuri slid to the ground and handed Victor the silks. “Your turn.”

There was a challenge in Yuuri's eyes, and Victor felt himself heat. And… surprisingly, he wasn't terrible at climbing.

“Your core strength is really good.” Yuuri said, and looked at Victor's flat belly. Victor felt the tips of his ears flush a dusky pink, for what felt like the hundredth time that evening.

 

***********************************************************************************************************************************

 

A few more moves learnt, and Yuuri tied a knot in the silks to make a hammock in the trees for them. Facing each other, they swung gently from side to side, legs meeting in the centre.

“This is awfully forward of me...” started Yuuri, and Victor's heart didn't beat faster like a tiny bird's, no! He was a strong Russian man with fabulous self-control...

“...but do you want some MD?”

Oh.

Actually, that would be quite nice. As far as drugs went, Victor had only ever smoked weed (very rarely; he was slightly paranoid about the tobacco in joints, worrying about his lungs) and taken cocaine (about twice, both times with Chris). He'd never done MDMA, but Chris had told him good things about it. He knew it wasn't something he could do often with his career, but right now he wanted to take a journey into a different place with this beautiful, magical boy.

“Do you mind the taste?” Yuuri asked him. “If you do, I'll make you a bomb. It'll just take longer to work.”

“That's fine, I don't need a bomb.” Victor replied. _Strong Russian man._

Victor watched as Yuri licked his forefinger and dabbed it into the little bag of white powder.

“Okay. Open your mouth.”

Victor parted his lips as requested, and Yuuri leant forward. Their weight in the hammock brought them closer, and _oh._ Yuuri had his finger on Victor's tongue.

“Suck.”

_That was far hotter than it had any right to be._

The MDMA tasted horrible, like powdered paracetamol pills, but Victor barely noticed, focused on the feel of Yuuri's finger in his mouth. He swallowed. Yuuri withdrew his finger and repeated the same process for himself. Victor couldn't take his eyes away as Yuuri sucked the same finger that Victor had. _Does that count as an indirect kiss?_

Yuuri smiled, devilishly. “You're cute.”

Victor blushed bright red.

Yuuri took his phone out of his pocket. “It's quiet, hey?” He pressed a button and music began to play, quietly. Something old… Victor half-recognised it. “Do you like King Crimson?” Yuuri asked.

Without waiting for an answer, he slid out of the hammock and put his phone on the floor, speaker up. He straightened up and extended a hand. “Will you dance with me, beautiful Victor?”

The music curled around them as they stepped together, swaying to the shimmering sounds of 70s psychedelia.

Twenty minutes later, the drug began to bloom inside them, unfurling tingling tendrils into their fingertips. They were still dancing, and grew closer, wanting each other's touch.

“I love that first dizziness.” Yuuri said. “Like waves in your head. Don't you?”

“You were flying before.” Victor told him, solemnly. “You were flying and it was beautiful. And now I'm flying with you.” He giggled and lowered his head.

Yuuri paused, then threw back his head and let out a peal of laughter.

“You're a beautiful human, Victor.” he said.

The world had grown softer and sharper at the same time; the air felt like a kiss from warm lips, but Victor could hear every sound the trees made, all at once with the same level of priority. He could hear the sounds of the music from Yuuri's phone, and the music spilling from the festival beyond the trees.

He could hear Yuuri's breathing.

They stood face to face, arms around each other. _Sitting down would be better_ , Victor's brain said. He walked them to the base of a tree, and slid down to the ground, pulling Yuuri after him.

Yuuri ended up between his legs, leaning on his chest.

“This is nice.” he murmured. “You're nice.”

“You're nicer.”

Victor brought a hand up to touch Yuuri's face. _Such a pretty face._ Yuuri opened his eyes, mischief sparkling in their depths. He looked up, so close that Victor could feel warm breath ghosting over his skin. “Why are you touching my face?”

Victor was taken aback for a moment. Then he grinned. “Because it's the nicest face I've seen all day.”

Yuuri gasped in mock horror. “Only all day?”

“All week, then.”

Yuuri's eyes were still accusatory.

“All year?”

“I'll take all year.”

There was a pause.

“Can you hear the birds starting to sing?” Yuuri asked softly.

“It's starting to go light.”

“I want to do one thing, before this night ends.”

“What do you want to do?” Victor asked softly.

Yuuri sat up so he was level with Victor, and held his gaze. His pupils were so wide, Victor felt he could drown in them.

He giggled.

“What are you giggling at?” Yuuri murmured, inching a little closer.

“You look like a beautiful moonchild.” Victor told him. “So high and so beautiful.”

Yuuri stared at him. “How are you so perfect?”

There was nothing in the world left but Yuuri's eyes.

Then Yuuri leant forwards slowly, and then there was nothing in the world left but Yuuri's lips.

 

***********************************************************************************************************

 

There was a phone ringing by Victor's head, shrill and insistent. Victor blinked bleary eyes, twice. He was under a tree. Why was he under a tree? There was a weight on his arm, a… _oh._ It was Yuuri. Yuuri sleeping soundly through the noise of his phone.

“Yuuri.” Victor tried, slipping his arm away. “Yuuri, your phone's ringing.”

It took a few more shakes and then suddenly Yuuri's eyes snapped open. “SHIT. What's the time?!”

He grabbed for his phone, which had just stopped ringing. “Shit shit shit shit shit.”

Victor sat up, watching him.

“Ahhh I'm sorry!” Yuuri said. “Rude awakening. I'm so late. I've got to go.”

Victor smiled. “Sorry for keeping you up.”

Yuuri took down his silks and bundled them under his arm. “If I could stay, I would.”

He leant down, almost shyly, and pressed a chaste kiss to Victor's lips. “I'm sorry to dash.”

Then he was gone, haring back to the press of the festival.

Victor, still smiling, brought his hand up to touch his lips.

 

**************************************************************************************************************************

 

It took Victor a ridiculously long time to find their camp again. By the time he reached the skaters' tents, the sun was bright and the others were all sat outside, eating breakfast. Mickey saw him first, and as he watched the evil smile bloom over his friend's face, Victor knew he was in for merciless teasing.

“Here he is, the dirty stop-out!”

“ _Victor,_ you sly dog.”

“Tell us the story, Vitya.”

“I'm heartbroken,” Chris said. “I thought you and me – we had something special, Victor.”

“You didn't come back last night either, Chris.” Mila reminded him.

Chris laughed. “I came _on_ someone's back, does that count?”

Sara, fighting laughter, hit Chris on the arm.

 

*****************************************************************************************************************************

 

A few hours later, it hit Victor like a cold wet wave in the stomach. Yuuri hadn't taken his phone number, or his email, or his facebook. Victor had no way to get in touch with him.

Maybe after the festival he could stalk him, as a silks performer he must be somewhere on the internet. But he wanted to see him at the festival. _Wanted to spend every minute together,_ supplied Victor's brain unhelpfully. _Detroit's pretty far, you know. If you don't see him here, will he even want you to get in touch afterwards?_

_Maybe it was just a one-night thing._

Victor kept his eyes determinedly peeled, whilst doing his best to hide just how hard he was looking for Yuuri from his friends. He suspected Chris knew how smitten he was, but he mercifully appeared to be keeping it to himself.

He didn't see Yuuri again, though. The festival passed by in a blur of days and suddenly they were packing their tents away, feeding Chris painkillers and leaving Glastonbury's fields.

When he got home, he couldn't find any trace of Yuuri on the internet. No social media linked to the festival, no Youtube videos, no Instagram. He searched for every spelling of Yuuri he thought possible, scrolled through every video of aerial silks he could find, and for a short period strongly considered hiring a private investigator. He was only put off by the thought of the field day the press would have if they found out.

Finally, Victor had to concede defeat.

Victor conceding defeat was not a pretty thing. He moped. He listened to sad music. He painted his nails black.

Victor's coach was at his wits' end. But Victor didn't care, because Victor was _sad._

This went on for a few weeks. Then Victor turned the sad music off and plastered the smile back on his face; the Grand Prix series was coming up, and he might be sad, he might be doomed to die alone and turn into goo in his apartment before anyone came looking for him _(oh god, please don't let me turn into goo)_ , he might never meet that magic boy again; but he had one thing left. He was a winner. And he was going to win this Grand Prix just like the ones before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shangri-La is real and amazing and just as magical as this. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0POkVKa0Olo


	3. Chapter 3

The end of summer bled out. Victor's training regime became more and more intense as the Grand Prix competitions approached. Even Chris was knuckling down and excluding everything but training from his routine, if the lack of drunk texts recently was anything to go by (despite his cool image, Chris was a terrible drunk texter. Victor had several messages saved to his phone that he would never delete).

In October, Victor won gold in Skate America by a wide margin. He knew he'd won from the minute he finished his free skate; didn't even need to wait for the judges' scores. He wheeled round the ice in celebration, teeth bared in a grin borne of adrenaline. The stadium was a roar of cheering. Victor smiled for the cameras and sounded happy for the reporters. Then he got the hell out of there.

 **From:** **Chris** Congrats darling! You were fab. cx

 **From:** **Victor** Easy win, but thanks. Good luck in Canada, see you at the final ;)

At Skate Canada the following week, Chris took his own gold.

**From: Chris** See you at the final, babe ;) x

 

 ***********

 

**From: Chris** Did you watch the other skaters btw?

**From: Victor** I didn't, no

**From: Victor** Why?

**From: Chris** Um

**From: Chris** Well

 **From: Victor** ???

**From: Chris** The guy who placed fifth

 **From: Victor** …

**From: Chris** Is really hot

**From: Chris** Like REALLY hot

 **From:** **Victor** ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

 **From:** **Victor** ...I'm listening

**From: Chris** So he's assigned to the Trophée de France with me

**From: Chris** And I asked him if he wanted to go for a wild night on the town with me

 **From:** **Victor** ;)

**From: Chris** ;) was what I was going for, yes

**From: Chris** But then he gave me the MOST innocent smile

**From: Chris** And said “Ooh, that'd be nice!”

**From: Chris** Like I was asking him if he wanted a cupcake or something

 **From:** **Victor** What :/ do you ask people if they want cupcakes often??

**From: Chris** Shut up :P basically he was shiny and sweet and fluffy

**From: Chris** so I assumed he was straight and thought I was joking around

 **From:** **Victor** fair fair

 **From:** **Victor** ...so is he?

**From: Chris** WELL

**From: Chris** after the comp ended

**From: Chris** we were both leaving the venue

**From: Chris** he comes up to me

**From: Chris** hands me a piece of paper with his number on it

**From: Chris** WINKS at me

**From: Chris** Like some… I don't even know

 **From:** **Victor** Cupcake? ;)

**From: Chris** FILTHY cupcake

**From: Chris** and purrs into my ear

**From: Chris** that he's looking forward to our wild night

**From: Chris** I'm not often shook

**From: Chris** But darling, I have LIMITS

**From: Chris** 0-100 in 12 seconds

**From: Chris** I kid you not

**From: Chris** The kid had me shook

 **From: Chris:** ME VICTOR

 **From:** **Victor** Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

**From: Chris** And THEN!

**From: Chris** He wrote down his instagram as well as phone no

 **From: Chris**...so obviously I stalked him shamelessly

**From: Chris** And he has HAMSTERS that he CUDDLES

**From: Chris** And also BREATHES FIRE for fun

**From: Chris** As in he's a FIRE EATER VICTOR

**From: Chris** like wtf

**From: Chris** What even is this human

**From: Chris** AND he skates like sex

**From: Chris**...not my sex, much subtler

**From: Chris** Like a toreador in a film where it's clearly an allegory for filthy seduction

**From: Chris** His hips

**From: Chris** fslgflgdjgfsgs

 **From:** **Victor** So you've got a hot date in paris? ;)

**From: Chris** I don't know if it's a date I STILL HAVE NO IDEA IF HE'S STRAIGHT

 **From:** **Victor** ...evidence would suggest possibly no?

**From: Chris** I've stalked all 2,347 pictures on his instagram

**From: Chris** wait

**From: Chris** 2,348

**From: Chris** And evidence is inconclusive

 **From:** **Victor** ...chris are you sitting there refreshing his page?

**From: Chris** No

**From: Chris**...um, maybe a tiny bit

**From: Chris** But ANYWAY

**From: Chris** How can I have a conversation with him now? I'm going to drop something in from like 4 years ago and then he's going to freak the fuck out and think I'm the creepiest stalker ever to creep

 **From:** **Victor** ...Chris, he literally gave you his instagram handle

 **From:** **Victor** I'm pretty sure that means he wanted you to look

**From: Chris** ARGH

 **From:** **Victor** This is amazing

 **From:** **Victor** I didn't know you got crushes like this chris

**From: Chris** Argh argh argh

**From: Chris** He's so NICE

**From: Chris** and SWEET

**From: Chris** But with an undercurrent of TERRIBLE SEXUAL CONFIDENCE

**From: Chris** He breathes fire for a job sometimes

**From: Chris** Wearing really quite indiscreet clothes

**From: Chris** And eyeliner

**From: Chris** Babe I'm such a sucker for eyeliner

 **From:** **Victor** ...me too tbh

**From: Chris** VICTOR NIKIFOROV careful what you say

 **From:** **Victor** Bros before hoes  <3

 **From:** **Victor** You might be a hoe but you'll always be my bro and I wouldn't dream of stealing your hoe  <3 <3 <3

 **From:** **Victor** Just seduce him with your charm

 **From:** **Victor** And your frankly illegal eyelashes

 **From:** **Victor** GO GET HIM TIGER

 

************************************************************

 

In November, Victor won gold again at the Rostelecom Cup in Moscow. Boring. He didn't even watch the other competitors, choosing instead to catch up with old school friends in Moscow; they weren't close friends but it was a breath of fresh air to be with people entirely unassociated with skating, talk about their kids and their jobs and their lives.

Admittedly Victor had as sketchy an idea of their jobs as they did of his skating career. He gathered they… sat at desks, with computers and telephones, and had meetings every so often. _Super weird_ , he thought. He tried to imagine himself doing the same thing, in a suit. He could imagine the suit very well – he'd look sharp, just the right amount of dashing, a takeaway coffee cup by his elbow giving him an air of businesslike efficiency – but couldn't quite imagine further than that. Opening emails, maybe? Important emails. Yes.

 

*******

A month later, and Victor was in Marseilles. Another programme skated well, despite the ennui that didn't seem to be going away. Another gold medal, another podium photograph with Chris.

Chris looked glowing, Victor thought. He'd gone for his hot Paris date with… Phichit, the boy's name was?

Victor had Skyped Chris a few days later, and asked him how the night had ended. Chris had turned a bright shade of maroon and developed a sudden and intense cough; given how open Chris normally was, Victor decided he definitely did not want to know any further details.

Chris and Phichit had been talking constantly since, apparently. Talking and sending innumerable selfies; having seen a number of them, Victor could confirm that Phichit was very adorable. Not quite his type, but he could see why Chris was smitten.

He still found it hilarious, though. Victor started sending Chris Myspace-worthy selfies; duck faces, terrible filters and dramatic poses.

“You're mocking my _pure_ and _precious_ love.” Chris bemoaned over Skype.

“Please, Chris. _Nothing_ that's been around you is pure.”

Chris laughed, his eyes sparkling with restrained mirth. And very-nearly-shacked-up joy? Victor wondered.

Then his mind backtracked. “WAIT. Did you mean love seriously?”

“Um.”

“Oh my god Chris! You're in LURVE!”

Chris blushed to the roots of his hair.

“CHRIS AND PHICHIT,” Victor chanted, “SITTING IN A TREE,”

Chris covered his face with his hands. “How the fuck are you twenty-seven, Nikiforov?”

“K- I- S- S- I- N- G-.”

“Shut up!”

“But you're so CUTE.”

Chris had grumbled to cover the beaming smile that threatened to break out over his face. Then he hadn't been able to hold it in any longer and had dazzled for the rest of the Skype call. He was still dazzling a little now.

Phichit hadn't made it to the Final, so Chris had gone to find a quiet corner to call him from. Phichit would have been watching the competition, of course, but Chris wanted to tell him about his silver anyway. Or maybe he just wanted to hear his voice. Victor walked out of the venue instead with Yuri Plisetsky, rising star of the Russia skating team; just fifteen, he was already preparing for his senior debut next year with the tenacity of a tiger. However, he was impetuous and impulsive, wanting to reach for the next achievement more than truly master each new skill. As he and Yakov, their coach, had done many times before, Victor tried to hammer home the importance of practice. “About your free performance… the step sequence could use more work.”

Yuri glowered and tossed his head back. “I won, so who cares? Quit nagging, Victor.”

The two Russian skaters continued walking towards Yakov, who had unfortunately heard Yuri's words. “Hey, Yuri!” their coach yelled. “You can't talk that way forever!”

Yuri regarded the grizzled older man with an impassive expression, which did nothing to help Yakov's mood. As he continued telling Yuri off, Victor became aware of eyes watching them. Were they watching Yakov yell at Yuri? Time to deflect.

Victor turned round with his most charming smile. “A commemorative photo?” he said brightly. “Sure!”

He focused on the man behind. Dark hair, messily pushed back. Glasses framing wide, warm brown eyes. Baggy exercise clothes covering a lean lithe body. A face that he didn't think he could ever forget.

_Oh._

_Fuck._

Yuuri stared at him for a beat, recognition and hurt blooming on his face. Then, setting his jaw, he turned sharply on his heel and walked away.

_Fuck._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I'm SO sorry that this update has taken so long! Life has been hectic (I moved to Russia!) (for non-Yuri-on-Ice reasons, but it's still exciting to be going round places in St Petersburg (also I get to say vkusno all the time!)). But yes, sorry sorry and next update will come a lot sooner. :)  
> Secondly, I've taken the chapter count off because this is definitely going to be quite a lot longer than i first intended... hold onto your hats kids <3  
> Thanks for reading, you beautiful people!

_Fuck._

Victor's mind had gone blank as he tried to make sense of the interaction he'd just had with Yuuri. So had his face if the strange expression Yuri Plisetsky currently wore was any indication.

“The fuck was that, Victor?”

“ _Language,_ Yura.” Yakov muttered, but without any real heat, as he left the two younger skaters.

Victor stared dazedly at Yuri.

“Victor, you're freaking me out.”

With superhuman effort, Victor reassembled his scattered brain cells and took a deep breath.

“Who...”

Yuri raised one eyebrow impatiently.

“Who was _that_?”

Yuri didn't look like this clarified anything.

“That guy just now?”

“Yeah. With the dark hair.”

It was Yuri's turn to look dumbfounded. “You _know_ who he is.”

_Yuuri. But how would_ Yuri  _ know who Yuuri was? _

“Jesus Christ, Victor, you know why he was pissed off, don't you?”

_I should have got his number? I should have taken him back to my tent and made him come till the middle of next week? I should have flirted more, been more fun?_

In the absence of any of these making sense to Yuri, Victor continued to look blank.

Yuri groaned. “He was  _ in the finals _ , Victor.”

_He was a skater?_

“He's Yuuri Katsuki, from Japan. He just skated in the same competition as you  _ and  _ he won bronze at the Rostelecom. Which you also skated in. And stood on the same podium with him.”

Yuri paused, and then to make absolutely certain Victor had understood, added “And you just asked him if he wanted a commemorative photo  because you… thought he was a fan? ”

“Shit.”

“No shit Sherlock. Did you not watch  _ any _ of the other skaters?!”

Victor made a strangled noise.  _ If he'd only looked, Yuuri had been  _ _ right  _ _ underneath his nose. Close enough to… touch? Yuuri had obviously recognised him so it must have seemed as though Victor was intentionally blanking him. And then Victor had asked him if he wanted a photo.  _

_Victor was a fucking idiot._

 

_***_

Someone was knocking at his door.

“Victor?”

Victor carried on staring at his own face in the bathroom mirror.

The knocks continued.

“Victor, are you okay?”

The knocks stopped, and Victor's phone began to ring.

“ _Merde,_ Victor. I can hear your phone, you know.”

Letting out a sigh, Victor padded to the door in besocked feet. He opened it just as Chris was taking a deep breath to call again.

“I'm fine. I'll be down in a bit.”

“ _Victor._ You're not fine, darling. What's up?”

Victor opened his mouth. Then he closed it again. Chris raised a well-groomed eyebrow.

There was a long pause. Chris continued to wait.

“Um.” said Victor. “You remember Glastonbury?”

Chris nodded.

“Um. The guy I met there. He's here and I think I fucked up and he's SKATING and I don't know what to wear and I definitely need to be more drunk but I'm not ready to go down yet and he's really pretty and I don't know what's going on and he's skating and I think he's angry with me and --”

Stopping the flow of words, Chris put a hand on Victor's shoulder, trying not particularly successfully to hide his amusement.

“Tonight, Victor,” he said, “I'll be your fairy godmother.” He beamed. “You _shall_ go to the ball!”

Half an hour later, Victor was spruced up to Chris's specifications and feeling significantly better about life.

“You look fab.” Chris said reassuringly. “And if this guy doesn't think you look fab then that's his loss.”

Victor swallowed. “This is so weird.”

Victor knew, in theory, that people could get nervous around a crush. It was just that it had never happened to him before.

He was not well-equipped to deal with it.

“If it all crashes and burns, Chris, please come drinking with me.”

Chris laughed. “Of course, _mon ch_ _é_ _ri_.”

Victor turned to the mirror to fix his immaculate hair one last time.

“You never know.” said Chris. “He might not even be at the banquet.”

Victor took a deep breath and turned to the door. “Yeah. Probably working myself up over nothing.”

 

***

 

The two skaters were forty minutes late. Earlier in their careers they would have felt bad about it, but now they were far more blasé. Besides, it wasn't as if anyone would tell the gold and silver medallists off, was it?

When they arrived, however, the banquet hall was already bustling, and they were swept up by their respective coaches immediately. Victor was charming as always, but his wide smile belied how carefully he was scanning the room for a certain dark-haired skater. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Chris keeping watch on him. What he'd do without Chris, he'd never know.

Chris moved away to talk to Celestino Cialdini, a skating coach Victor vaguely knew from years of competitions and an association with Yakov, Victor's coach. He was coaching Chris's Phichit, wasn't he? Victor idly wondered whether Celestino knew the precise nature of Chris's relationship with Phichit. Given how easily Chris was looking him in the eye, he doubted it.

Then Victor saw it; a flash of dark hair from someone standing behind Celestino. Immediately, he straightened up, putting on his most dazzling smile ready to peal into attractive laughter. He had been told on several occasions that his laugh was very attractive, and now was the time to deploy it.

Yakov, standing next to him, gave him a sideways look.

“A most unfortunate incident.” Yakov said, pointedly. “Still, luckily Hunter didn't lose the leg.”

Ah. Clearly the conversation had taken a noseward dive since Victor had lost focus. He toned down the smile slightly.

The evening dragged on. As usual, Yakov whirled him round a host of sponsors, officials and important people, but unlike usual Victor was constantly aware of Yuuri's presence at the other end of the room. Unlike Victor, Yuuri seemed to have shaken everyone off, and was standing by the drinks table nursing a glass of champagne.

Well. Not exactly nursing. An increasingly large number of empty flutes were lined up beside him, and somewhere along the way he seemed to have purloined a whole bottle to himself.

Next time Victor glanced in his direction, Yuuri was gone.

However, there was a cluster of people gathered in the far corner of the room. Even over the music and across the bustle of the banquet, louder voices could be heard. It was mainly the younger skaters, getting a bit boisterous, Victor thought. He bet Yuri was in there somewhere.

A voice rose from the centre of the crowd. “I'll _fucking_ slay you.”

Yep, definitely Yuri.

Suddenly, Chris appeared at Victor's elbow. “Victor! There's someone here you simply _must_ meet. Will you excuse us?” he said to Victor's current conversation, puppy dog eyes in full force.

Into Victor's ear he murmured, as they headed to the cluster around Yuri, “The festival boy. He's not Yuuri Katsuki, by any chance?”

Victor nodded, not quite trusting his voice to sound free of nerves.

“Excellent.” Chris said, sounding altogether too pleased with himself.

“Why?”

Slightly redundantly – they'd reached the cluster and the commotion in the centre was visible in all its glory – Chris said: “He just challenged little Yuri to a dance battle.”

Wide-eyed, Victor took in the scene. Furious determination on his face, Yuri Plisetsky was throwing himself into all kinds of shapes. However, Yuuri Katsuki was something else. Lithe and elegant, he was slipping in and out of styles with a dancer's grace and an athlete's stamina. As Victor watched, he went down to the floor, supporting himself with one hand in a breakdance move. His shirt slipped down with gravity, exposing a lean muscled belly.

But the most striking thing about Yuuri at that moment, Victor thought, was the sheer joy he was finding in the dance. So unlike the skater from earlier today, or even earlier that evening, this Yuuri was effervescent, overflowing with vitality. His smile was like sunshine.

Chris pressed a glass into his hand. “So. Down this and then you're going to go and dance with him.”

“I finish this first.”

“And then you go and dance with him.”

Unaware of the two of them watching him, Yuuri rolled his hips sinfully.

Victor whimpered.

***

It took two glasses of champagne and a strong shove in the back from Chris in the end.

Finding himself suddenly in the midst of the dance floor, Victor stumbled and looked down at the floor. When he raised his eyes a few beats later, Yuuri was standing in front of him, quirking an eyebrow up.

“Victor.” he said. “You want to dance?”

And suddenly everything was okay, because Yuuri remembered his name and he didn't seem angry and he _wanted_ to dance with Victor and Yuuri was _beaming_ , smiling so brightly that Victor thought his heart might burst.

So Victor danced.

***

“Victorrrrrrrr. Why are you so pretty?”

“Not as pretty as you, Yuuri.”

“No, but you are. Y'really hot.”

Victor huffed a little laugh and pushed Yuuri's (slightly damp) hair off his forehead.

“I aim to please.”

“S'really hot. Anata... have you got water?”

“We can get some water?”

Yuuri nodded solemnly.

Taking his hand, Victor walked them both to the bar, where he got two glasses of iced tap water, one for Yuuri and one for himself.

“Arigatou.” Yuuri mumbled, mainly into the water glass.

Around them, the banquet was beginning to die away. Chris and Mila were still dancing, but Chris and Mila would always be the last two dancing. Sara and Mickey were sprawled over chairs by the wall, watching Chris and Mila. Yuri had been sent to bed by Yakov before the coaches had left the party. People were still milling around, still drinking champagne, but the mood had become far looser. Most of the girls had taken their heels off.

“It's always a little sad when a party ends, isn't it?” Victor murmured, half to himself.

There was a pause.

“It doesn't have to end.” Yuuri said, his voice somehow both adorable and dark smooth satin.

“Oh?” Victor couldn't quite meet his gaze. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well. I have a room and I can make music play and we can carry on dancing.”

_Was this a good idea?_ Victor wasn't sure. He wanted to – he wanted to do all sorts of terrible things, but Yuuri had had a lot to drink and he desperately didn't want to do anything Yuuri might regret. 

“I don't mean, like, in a creepy way!” Yuuri said hurriedly. “I don't want to _do anything_ do anything… wellidobutreallyijustwanttohangoutwithyou.”

Victor turned to him with a smile.

His face tilted to the ground, sounding suddenly much more sober, Yuuri said “I just don't want you to go yet, Victor.” He lifted his head. “Stay with me?”

Their eyes met, and Victor was drowning in melted-chocolate-brown.  He wasn't really able to say no, not when those eyes were looking at him so imploringly.  He gulped. “Okay.”

“Yay!” said Yuuri, and hugged him round the middle.

***

The two of them had sneaked out of the banquet hall, taking each other's hand once they were safely in the lift (and wasn't that strange, how natural it felt?) and walked to Yuuri's room with only minimal giggling. Yuuri had taken his hand away from Victor to fumble with the key, and after much clicking and furrowing of eyebrows, had turned to Victor pouting.

“I don't think this door opens,” Yuuri had said. Then he leant on it, and fell onto the floor as the door swung inwards.

“Oops.” he said, grinning entirely unapologetically.

Victor felt the breath leave his lungs. Yuuri was leaning up on his elbows, his tie a mess, his hair rumpled and most of the buttons on his shirt were undone. He looked debauched, his grin dazzling and far too bright.

Victor held onto the doorframe for support.

“Are you sure you want me to come in?” he asked. “Do you need sleep?”

Yuuri huffed, sliding his elbows down so his back hit the carpet with a dull whump.

“Sleep is for the weak.”

Not moving the rest of his body, he held a hand out to Victor.

“Come in and close the door, _baka.”_

Victor was at once too drunk to think straight and too sober to lose his self-consciousness. He knew he should definitely close the door though – what if someone passed by and saw them like this?

So he stepped over the threshold, only slightly shakily, and clicked the door into place.

Yuuri's hand was still outstretched.

Warily, Victor reached out to touch his fingertips, feeling suddenly shy.

Yuuri grasped his hand swiftly, pulling Victor down to the floor with him.

“ _Thank_ you,” he mumbled snarkily.

Then he slid an arm round Victor's waist, rolled up and over him, and _oh –_ he was kissing him, lips soft and warm and sweet with champagne. Victor's lips parted breathlessly, and Yuuri licked into his mouth, hot and wet. Victor wasn't able to stifle the moan that escaped him, his voice already sounding wrecked.

Then Yuuri lifted himself up and off Victor, grinning even wider. “Sorry,” he said, not sounding at all sorry, as Victor struggled to see him with pupils blown wide open. “I've been wanting to do that for a while.”

“Guh.” said Victor.

And then Yuuri was on his feet again, energy entirely regained. “But I said we were going to dance, didn't I? Let's dance, Victor.”

He tapped at his phone and an upbeat ragtime tune began to play. “Victorrrrrrrr.”

Dazedly, Victor got to his feet.

Yuuri took both his hands and began to twirl them around. Victor was very aware that he looked utterly inelegant, but also too distracted to care.

Yuuri cocked his head to one side. “What are you thinking about, Victor?” he said, innocently.

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You tease.”

“What about me, Victor?”

And Yuuri fluttered his eyelashes. Just a little, but it was enough to make Victor's heart thud alarmingly.

“This about you.”

He pushed Yuuri back till his knees hit the end of the bed and he was forced to sit down. Victor put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him further until he lay looking up at Victor with a teasing smile.

“I'm still not quite sure what you're thinking.”

One knee up by Yuuri's hip, the other slid between Yuuri's knees, Victor cocked an eyebrow. “I'm not quite sure I believe you, Yuuri.” he said, as he lowered his head. “But let me make it clearer.”

And he was kissing Yuuri again, Yuuri underneath him, hands reaching to his hair to deepen the kiss, and Victor wanted this moment to last forever and ever.

Slow and soft they kissed, until they got slower and softer and Yuuri's hands stilled in Victor's hair.

Victor pulled away, gently.

Yuuri had fallen asleep.

Smiling, Victor got up from the bed. He wished he could stay, but also knew that the combination of early flights and possible gossip meant that he couldn't. Instead, he pulled the covers over Yuuri, and scanned the room for a notepad to write on. Once found, he scribbled his number and a note. “Sorry to leave so soon. Call me? – Victor.”

As an afterthought, he drew a little heart at the bottom.

Then he left the note on Yuuri's bedside table, turned the light out, and slipped out the door.

There was a bounce in his step all the way back to his room.


	5. Chapter 5

**From: Chris** Sooooooooooooooooooooo

**From: Chris** ;)

**From: Chris** You and Banquet Boy

**From: Chris** Did you have fun?

**From: Victor** Yeah

**From: Victor** It was a good night

**From: Victor** Did you have fun?

**From: Chris** Oui oui mon amis

**From: Chris** But I don't have the gossip

**From: Chris** You have the gossip

**From: Victor** um

**From: Chris** Don't keep a boy hanging

**From: Chris**...deets pls

**From: Victor** Haha

**From: Victor** I wish

**From: Chris** :O :O :O :O

**From: Chris** Really?!

**From: Chris** ...well, he was very drunk

**From: Chris** I admire your restraint

**From: Chris** And frankly, your strength

**From: Chris** I'm not sure I could have wrestled him off you

**From: Chris** But you know he likes you back now, ja ja?

**From: Chris** Have you spoken to him since?

**From: Victor** …I left him my number

**From: Chris** Ah

**From: Victor** So yeah

**From: Victor** Not spoken since

**From: Chris** It's only been a day

**From: Chris** He might be playing it cool?

**From: Chris** Or he might still be hungover to hell, I'm pretty sure he drank more than his own body weight in booze

**From: Victor** Haha

**From: Victor** Maybe

**From: Victor** Maybe I'm just being stupid

**From: Victor** Maybe I thought we had more of a connection than we did

**From: Victor**...oh my god

**From: Victor** Maybe I'm a bad kisser

**From: Victor** Fuck

**From: Victor** You know when you really like someone and there's loads of sexual tension

**From: Victor** And then you kiss them and they're bad at it and you go

**From: Victor** …yeah no

**From: Victor**?

**From: Victor** Maybe that happened to Yuuri

**From: Victor** But with me

**From: Chris** SEE I TOLD YOU YOU HAD GOSSIP

**From: Chris** Nikiforov's still got it ;)

**From: Chris** Don't be silly

**From: Chris** ...unless you felt like it was a bad kiss?

**From: Victor** No

**From: Victor** It was a GOOD kiss

**From: Victor** It was possibly the best kiss of my LIFE

**From: Chris** well

**From: Chris** there you are

**From: Victor** BUT IF IT WASN'T THE KISS

**From: Victor** THAT MEANS IT WAS ME

**From: Victor** Oh god oh god

**From: Chris** Trust me

**From: Chris** He was totally into you :P

**From: Victor** :'( :'( :'(

**From: Victor** If he calls I'll believe that

**From: Victor** If not

**From: Chris** He will call!

**From: Chris** I'm sure!

**From: Chris** And if he doesn't, you know where to find him now

**From: Victor**...I'm not going to chase after someone who doesn't want me

**From: Victor** He knows I like him

**From: Victor**...I might have told him I've not liked anyone else since the festival

**From: Victor** So it's his call

**From: Victor** If he vanishes a second time, I can take a hint

**From: Victor** It's been 20 hours

**From: Chris** Victor

**From: Chris** You're Victor Nikiforov

**From: Chris** I'm SURE he'll call <3

 

Yuuri did not call.

***************************************

Victor did not mope.

Definitely not.

That's why he was in this bar, not moping.

He realised that the girl he was with was still talking, and he tried conscientiously to listen.

A little too much vodka, maybe.

The girl stopped speaking, clearly waiting for a response.

“I'm so sorry,” Victor said, making his voice coil like soft smoke. “I couldn't focus on a word you were saying.”

She looked confused, unsure whether she should be offended or not.

Victor bent his head towards her, lowering his voice. “Because, you see, you have the most beautiful eyes.”

She blushed the tiniest amount. Another day, Victor would have found it charming, but now… now there was a weird emptiness in his stomach, as though he'd just drunk ice cold water.

Ah well. She was pretty, at least. _Fake it till you make it, Nikiforov._

“It's terribly distracting.” he murmured, and kissed her.

Her lips were soft and warm and _not what he wanted at all._

But he wanted skin on skin and someone to lie close to, he wanted to numb the conscious part of his brain with _something,_ so he carried on kissing her, and when she pulled away, eyes big and bright, and asked him to come home with her, he said yes.

He didn't stay the night.

 

****************************

**From: Mila** Hey babe! <3 You remember Sara's coming to visit this weekend, yes?

**From: Mila** We're partying. And going to the zoo. Don't forget!

**From: Victor** I can party, going to skip the zoo if that's okay though (sorry)

**From: Victor** I need to do some core training

**From: Victor** (especially if we're partying :P)

**From: Mila**...when did you last take a day off?!

**From: Mila** You know Yakov keeps telling you you need to break, yes?

**From: Mila** Come to the zoooooooooo <3 <3 <3

**From: Victor** Sorry. I do need to train though

**From: Victor** (don't tell Yakov)

**From: Mila** :( :( :(

**From: Mila** There's more to life than work babe

**From: Victor** I know

**From: Victor** I just want to work now

**From: Mila** What will you do when you retire?! You won't know what to do with free time!

**From: Victor** Haha. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it ;)

**From: Mila** You better party, at least :P

**From: Victor** Of course <3

 

*****************************

“He doesn't like me, Makkachin.” Victor said glumly to the poodle sprawled over his grey sofa.

“He doesn't like me _at all_ and he's _really hot._ ”

He let out a sigh.

“Woof.” said Makkachin.

 

************************************

_**IS THIS THE END OF THE ROAD FOR YUURI KATSUKI?** _

_Following a disappointing Grand Prix series, rumour has it that the popular Japanese figure skater has hung up his skates for good: whilst this has not been confirmed by Katsuki himself, he is no longer training with former coach Celestino Cialdini. Has he left the sport for good? Recent pictures have emerged… [read more]_

 

**********************************

“He's not assigned to any of the competitions coming up.” Victor said, his face buried in Makkachin's coarse fur.

“I'm probably never going to see him again in my life.”

Makkachin whined softly, picking up on Victor's misery.

Victor hugged the dog tighter.

“Makkachiiiiiiiiiin. Life is _hard._ ”

 

*************************

**From: Chris** Right guys

**From: Chris** I miss you all

**From: Chris** And some of us need to stop moping

**From: Chris** (naming no names cough)

**From: Chris** And by chance!! There happens to be a holiday coming up and you have a BEAUTIFUL, GORGEOUS, WONDERFUL friend whose family owns a ski chalet

**From: Chris** And I suggest that a bit of mountain air would be fabulous with you all

**From: Chris** <3

**From: Chris** I was thinking maybe after Christmas? We could head there any time from the 25th and see the New Year in there <3 <3 <3

**From: Chris** Do say yes darlings

**From: Mila** YES PLEASE

**From Sara:** Si si si!

**From Sara:** Mickey is a yes too!

**From: Chris** We will have some family things but definitely there for New Year!!! (maybe we be there by the 28th?)

**From: Mila** I can be there from the 26th ))))

**From: Mila** You're a babe Chris

**From: Chris** I know darling ;)

**From: Emil** I also have some family things I think… New Year sounds like a fabulous plan though!

**From: Chris** Perfectement!

**From: Chris** Victor????

**From: Victor** Fuckit. Yeah I'm in

**From: Chris** FABULOUS

**From: Chris** You won't regret it!!!

**From: Victor** I've been to apres-ski parties with you before, Chris

**From: Victor** I think I will very much regret it

**From: Victor** At least in the short term

**From: Victor** I can come whenever )

**From: Chris** Ah but think of the long term! We will make glorious memories ;)

**From: Mila** Okay boys, stop flirting ;)

**From: Chris** :O

**From: Chris** I'm a loyal lover, I'll have you know

**From: Chris** ...That reminds me

**From: Chris** I invited the boyfriend too, hope that's okay

**From: Sara** Ooooooooh! We get to meet him! ;)

**From: Chris** Also his best friend

**From: Chris** Who I haven't met yet but Phichit assures me he's lovely

**From: Chris** (if there's anyone else you kids want to ask, go for it! The more the merrier eh?)

**From: Mila** Cool! More people yay!

**From: Mila** Also looking forward to meeting your Phichit properly ;) ;) ;)

**From: Chris** You have to be nice to him, yes?!!

**From: Chris** He's a delicate flower

**From: Mickey** Hi! This sounds great! Sara and I will be there for sure!

**From: Mickey** We'll be lovely to your boy

**From: Mila** Of course we will 0:)

**From: Mila**...do you think we could invite Yuri?

**From: Mila** I know he's a bit spiky but I don't think he has New Year's plans

**From: Mila** And me and Victor have to keep an eye on him

**From: Chris** Of course of course!

 

*****************

**From: Chris** Mission Control to Gorgeous

**From: Chris** ...Operation Eros is go ;)

**From: Phichit** That's my boy!

**From: Phichit** This will totally work

**From: Phichit** ♡✧ 。  (⋈◍ ＞◡＜◍ ) 。✧♡

**From: Chris** ♡♡♡


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had work deadlines and haven't slept in three days, I'm sorry if none of this makes any sense!! Posting anyway though because hey-ho. Thanks for reading you cool kids! <3

Victor headed to the ski chalet earlier than the other Russian skaters, keen to see Chris before the rest of the guests arrived. Not that he wanted Chris all to himself, but… well, no, he hadn't seen Chris since the Grand Prix and he _did_ want him to himself for a couple of days. Chris and Victor had been friends for a good decade now, and hanging out never failed to lift Victor's spirits. Besides, as Mila had said (although he'd die rather than admit it to her) he was growing tired of practicing so intensely.

As the taxi climbed higher and higher up the mountain, Victor felt his mood lift with the altitude. He texted Chris.

 **From: Victor** Nearly there mon amis! See you in 10)

Almost immediately, his phone buzzed back, and Victor smiled.

 **From: Chris** Pouring the wine now! :D

 **From: Chris** Also, you Russians really should give your smiley faces eyes

 **From: Chris** Is it happy? Is it sad and upside down? All this ambiguity!!!

 **From: Chris** Does it even have eyes?!

 **From: Chris** What did you do to that smiley face, Victor????

 **From: Victor** Don't ask

 **From: Victor** I'm secretly in the Mafia, you know ;)

 **From: Victor** If you don't set examples, people get out of line

The taxi pulled up a short walk from the chalet door. Paying the driver, Victor swung his luggage from the boot and climbed the steps.

Last time he was here had to be a good.. five years ago, he thought. They'd come with a group of Chris's schoolfriends and got far too drunk and larked around. Then Chris's boyfriend had broken up with him very messily and Chris and Victor had got even more drunk and sworn off boys together. Victor had lasted a good while (mainly because he hadn't sworn off girls), Chris had lasted about two weeks before he was sighing over someone else. Chris was like one of those chocolates with a soft gooey middle, thought Victor. It probably tasted of strawberry.

Although that wasn't saying much; unless he'd changed his shower gel recently, _Chris_ almost certainly tasted of strawberry – he'd bought kids' shower gel a few months back out of necessity and had discovered that not only did it make his skin softer than usual, it also smelled divine. He'd expressed considerable confusion as to why something so nice was reserved purely for children – “They don't even _appreciate_ soft skin and strawberry smells.” he'd mourned. Mila had raised an eyebrow and said, “You know you can actually get shower gel that smells nice. It's just in the women's section.”

Reaching the top of the stairs, Victor saw Chris standing at the open door. True to his word, he had a wine glass in each hand.

“Friends help you carry luggage,” Chris said, grinning –

“Good friends watch you carry luggage and give you wine after?” Victor said, an eyebrow raised.

“Exactly! Salut!”

Victor's unimpressed facade collapsed, and they both burst into laughter.

It was good to be back.

**

“Something on your mind, Chris?”

“Ah not at all! _Ser gut. Molto bene. Bon._ ”

“Sure? You seem pensive.”

“Maybe I'm getting reflective in my old age.”

Victor laughed. Dragging the final letter out much longer than necessary, he asked “Are you missing talking to lover boy?”

The tips of Chris's ears went ever so slightly pink.

“Shush you.”

“Or what?”

“Or I smother you to death with this cushion.”

“Try it if you think you're hard enough.”

Chris, as it turns out, was hard enough, and in trying to get the cushion off his face so he could breathe, Victor forgot all about the worried look on Chris's face.

**

Two days later, Chris and Victor had got supplies in, stocking the kitchen with enough to feed several (possibly hundred) more hungry mouths than they anticipated.

“Better safe than sorry,” Chris said happily as he put another eight bottles of wine into the shopping trolley.

“Yes,” said Victor, “Safe was exactly the word I was looking for.”

He put another two bottles of vodka in the trolley. Then he followed them up with a bottle of whisky. A thought struck him.

“We should get fireworks!”

**

When they got back to the chalet, Chris and Victor surveyed the enormous pile of fireworks they'd just bought.

“That's more than I thought we got.” said Chris, blankly.

“Um. We don't let Yuri let these off, yeah?” said Victor.

“Maybe we hide them until New Year.”

“Yes.”

**

Late that night Mila and Yuri arrived, with the dazed expressions of night-time travellers. Kicking their snowy boots off at the door, they hung their coats up and joined Chris and Victor in front of the fire, staying up far too late. Inroads were made into the wine.

“So when's your boy coming then?” Mila leant into Chris's shoulder amicably.

“Tomorrow.” There was warmth in Chris's voice. “In – ah shit, in six hours. I might need some beauty sleep.”

He looked around. “We might _all_ need some beauty sleep.”

“Are you sending us to bed, daddy?”

“Ugh,” said Yuri, quiet for the last five minutes, “I never want to hear you say that again, old man.”

Victor put on his best innocent smile.

Yuri made retching noises.

“Yes I am.” said Chris. “Sara and Mickey are coming in the afternoon too, you'll thank me tomorrow if you sleep now.”

“Sleep is for the weak,” Victor said cheerfully. “Don't you agree, Mila?”

Mila stretched. “I think I might turn in too to be honest. Long flight.”

“I definitely think sleeping is the best option,” Chris said, a weird gravity in his tone. “Let's call it a night?”

Victor sighed. “Boringggg. I'll be up in a minute.”

Mila and Chris said their goodnights and headed upstairs.

“I'm staying up,” a grumble came from Yuri. “Should have asked me.”

“Oh!”

Victor was surprised, in fact. He wasn't going to complain though, not when he had company and no intention of sleeping for a good few hours yet.

“Okay Yuri! Shall we play chess?”

Victor beat him three games to none.

“Chess is a stupid game.” said Yuri.

Halfway through the fourth game, Yuri fell asleep. Victor covered him with a blanket and lay on the sofa, drinking the last of his (and Yuri's) wine.

Some time later, Victor fell asleep too, plunged into strange and faintly disturbing dreams.

**

Victor awoke to Chris's feet running heavily down the stairs, a headache drilling a hole behind his left eye, and a realisation that he definitely needed a shower. Not the best first impression for Chris's boyfriend. He groaned. Ah well. Yuri Plisetsky was still curled under his blanket so that made Victor feel better. He was drooling out the corner of his mouth, looking uncharacteristically soft and sweet.

If Victor's eyes had been more okay with looking at bright lights, he would have definitely taken a picture for blackmail purposes.

Victor pulled the duvet up over his head. Darkness was great. Darkness was his friend.

Maybe he'd been hanging out with Georgi too much again.

Faintly, he heard the front door open and close with a click. Bright voices bubbled through the hall. _Ouch._

Maybe he should get up? Maybe he should stay hiding under this blanket, that seemed by far the preferable option at this point in time.

The door to the lounge opened. “This is the… lounge.” Chris had obviously noticed the two sleeping bodies halfway through, and dropped his volume down several notches.

“Cool!” a sunshiney voice said enthusiastically. Phichit. Must be Phichit; after all the photographs Chris had shown Victor, he felt like he knew the other man's personality inside and out. This voice sounded exactly the way he had imagined.

Then another voice chimed in, a little nervous but soft, and something about it sent chills down Victor's spine.

“Is that Yuri Plisetsky?”

“Yeah! You know him?” Phichit answered.

“Um. Yeah, kind of.”

“Awesome! He's such a cool skater.”

Victor couldn't place the voice. Why did it sound so –

_oh._

Victor stood up from the sofa like a bolt of electricity had gone through him, pulling the blanket off and over his head as he did so. Not having seen him lying there, Phichit screamed. Chris hugged Phichit on reflex. Phichit's friend turned completely white. Because _of course_ it was, of course it was the man he'd been fantasising about for an embarrassingly long time now, daydreamed about going to find him – dressed to the nines, of course – wooing him with charm and wit and debonair dressing – and Victor's hair was full of static from where he'd pulled the blanket off and jumped up – oh god, like a House of Horrors fright – and he was wearing yesterday's clothes and _definitely, definitely_ needed a shower –

Chris took one look at their faces and stepped in, trying to smooth over the panic. “Yuuri! You've met Victor before, haven't you?”

“No.” said Yuuri, at the same time as Victor said “Yes.”

It felt like a blow to the belly, but Victor felt he had to do something to salvage the situation. “I'm sorry, my mistake.” he said, as charmingly as was possible at this moment. “I'm Victor Nikiforov. A pleasure to meet you.”

Victor held out his hand.

“Yu- Yuuri Katsuki. Nice to meet you.”

Yuuri took Victor's outstretched hand.

Victor's mind went absolutely blank.

So he did the first thing that came to mind, which was kiss the back of Yuuri's hand, warm and there and far too intimate. Then, seemingly not in control of his facial muscles any more, he winked.

Yuuri squeaked, went bright red and sped out the door. Phichit zoomed after him. Chris lingered just long enough to give Victor a distressingly forced grin and two thumbs up, then he, too, was gone.

Victor stayed standing, bewildered.

“That could have gone a lot better, hey?” Yuri Plisetsky muttered from the floor, cracking one eye open.

“Um. I think so?”

Yuri growled and rolled over.

Victor carried on looking at the door for a little while.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo I wrote half of this in the Russian State Library and half on the Trans-Siberian Express, I feel like more culture should have bled into it but what can you do eh? Also I've not slept in an actual bed for the last four days (hey Trans-Siberian Express) and only eaten once in the same amount of time (I got a margherita pizza and it came topped mainly with mayonnaise, what the ACTUAL fuck, Russia) so there may well be huge glaring errors. If you spot any let me know and I'll fix!!!!  
> Also, I'm terrible at replying to comments at the moment but I love every single one of them, you babes <3

Victor was confused.

Scrub that, Victor was mind-bendingly _bewildered_. Yuuri was avoiding him, definitely avoiding him. Yet when Victor did manage to speak to him, there was none of the coldness Victor would have expected from someone who wanted to pretend nothing had happened, because, for instance, they regretted it. When Yuuri spoke to him, he was blushing and a little flustered and if it had been anyone else, Victor would have read it as starstruckness. However, Victor doubted that this was the case, given that Victor's tongue was now intimately acquainted with the inside of Yuuri's mouth.

Most intriguingly of all, on the rare occasion that Victor did manage to make eye contact, Yuuri's pupils blew wide and dark.

Victor was bewildered, but Victor was also optimistic.

**

“Yuuri, can I give you some wine?”

Yuuri looked at Victor blankly. “It's 11 in the morning.”

“I know!” Victor said cheerfully, waving his wine glass in the air.

“Why are you drinking wine at 11 in the morning?” Yuuri asked, a little nervously.

“Because we're on holiday! Won't you join me?”

“Chris probably will.”

“Chris and Phichit are… not up yet.”

Yuuri blushed at the suggestive tone in Victor's voice.

There was a pause, as Yuuri fidgeted with the pages of the book he was reading and tried hard not to look at Victor.

“I mean,” Victor said, “If you don't want to drink with me, there are lots of _other_ things we could do.” He let his fingers skim the neck of his bathrobe, showing the tiniest bit more chest.

Yuuri went ten shades darker and ran out the room.

Well. He hadn't said he wasn't interested.

**

Victor flopped face-first onto the bed in Chris's room.

“Has he said anything about me?”

Chris looked round from where he was fixing his hair in the mirror.

“He said you seem nice? He's a bit of a fan, I hear.”

Victor groaned. “Nothing else?”

Chris screwed up his face in sympathy. “Phichit won't tell.”

His face buried in duvet, Victor groaned again.

“Just flirt at him till he gets the idea?” Chris said.

“I think if I flirt any harder I might explode.” Victor raised his head. “What have you said to Phichit?”

Chris peered closer at his own reflection. “That you're utterly lovelorn and only Yuuri can stop you dying of a broken heart.”

“I hope you made me sound cooler than that.” Victor grumbled.

Chris turned, surveying Victor sprawled in an attitude of despair. His voice thick with amusement, he replied, “Well. I tried, _mon amis…_ but you don't make it easy.”

“You bully me.”

“Only a little bit.”

**

“Yuuuuuuuuuuuuri. Do you want some vodka?”

**

“Yuuri, your eyes are beautiful.”

**

“Yuuri, come to bed with me?”

**

“I've never seen you flirt so outrageously.” Chris said laconically, draping himself over the back of Victor's chair. “I feel like I ought to be a little jealous.”

The rest of the group – Mila, Yuri, Yuuri, Phichit, Sara and Mickey – had gone for an after-dinner walk. Victor sat in an armchair in front of the fire, attempting to read a very old, very dry book of French poetry.

“I've never seen me flirt so outrageously.” Victor said, mildly. “Frankly, I'm impressing myself.”

Chris laughed. “Phichit thinks you should keep it up, by the way.”

“He does?” Victor couldn't keep a note of surprise out of his voice.

“Obviously he's not saying much because he knows I'll probably tell you,” Chris said, “but if Phichit thought you should stop he'd definitely say.”

“Ah. Okay.”

Chris leant forward conspiratorially. “ _And_ he might have let slip that Yuuri's had a poster of you over his bed for the whole time he's known him.”

Victor lost his page in the book. “Really?”

“That's what he said. Sounds like you're in there, _cheri._ ”

Victor thought for a moment.

“Did he say which poster?”

**

Emil arrived the next day, and the chalet group was complete. Dinner that evening was a fancy affair; Chris had spent most of the afternoon in the kitchen, aided (but mostly abetted) by Mila, who was not a particularly good cook but an excellent gossip. Most of the more difficult tasks were therefore done by Chris, as Mila sat on a stool at the breakfast bar and chattered away, keeping Chris entertained. The others drifted in and out, helping a little here and there, until they got bored or were shooed away (Victor and Yuri were the only ones afforded this dubious honour).

Finally, at six o'clock, Mila swept round the chalet. “We're eating at seven. And dressing for dinner! Chef's orders.”

At seven, Victor emerged in a freshly ironed, white Gucci shirt, the top three buttons open slightly daringly. His crisp black trousers were as tight as they could be whilst still allowing him to sit down; Victor was firmly of the school of thought advocating “If you've got it, flaunt it.” Especially when there were attractive Japanese men who the hypothetical “you” would quite like to be attracted to you too, please and thank you.

As he turned down the stairs, their polished wood shiny under his slippered feet, he could already hear music bubbling up from the dining room below. Orchestral… a Viennese waltz, maybe? Chris had always had surprisingly good taste in classical music. Skating didn't leave a whole lot of time for much else besides training, but when Chris could, he played the clarinet.

Victor entered the dining room. Everyone except Yuuri and Phichit was already there. Dressing up for dinner was a good idea, thought Victor; everyone looked sparkling. Even little Yuri had a shirt tucked into smart black jeans, and there was a smile lurking under his permanent scowl.

He also had a glass of champagne, Victor noted, mentally reminding himself to keep an eye out for the lad.

Chris – also a fan of tight tailoring – was wearing an outfit much the same as Victor's. It was only slightly detracted from by the frilly pink apron he wore over it.

Seeing Victor's raised eyebrow, Chris grinned. “Someone's got to be mummy, eh?”

Yuri drained his glass and reached to pour himself more champagne. “Where's your boyfriend?” he growled at Chris. “I'm fucking starving.”

Mila put an arm around his slight frame. “What Yuri means is he's excited and it smells amazing!” she said, grinning.

Yuri scowled more, and muttered something barely intelligible, but that sounded suspiciously like _yeahandthattoo._

“It does smell amazing.” Mickey said, a little wistfully. Sara giggled. “You'll have to teach him, Chris – Mickey can't cook pasta.”

“Pasta's harder than it looks,” Emil said. “You have to get the right flour, and roll it thinly enough-”

Mickey blushed, and Sara laughed more. “No, not fresh pasta,” she clarified. “The kind that you literally buy in a packet and put in boiling water for ten minutes.”

“Oh.” said Emil, with a carefully blank expression.

Yuri snorted. “Victor can't cook pasta either, remember when you tried to make bolognaise and it all ended up in a sticky lump?”

“I bought you takeaway, though.” Victor said brightly. “Who needs to cook when you have a takeaway person just a phone call away?”

“Soggy, too.” Yuri said.

Then his stomach rumbled, loudly.

Chris smirked, and went to the bottom of the stairs, where he called up to Phichit. “Are you nearly ready to eat, dearest?”

Phichit's voice floated down. “Coming coming!”

His voice was swiftly followed by the sound of two pairs of feet. Chris hummed happily and went into the kitchen.

Victor had butterflies. Why did Victor have butterflies? He'd seen Yuuri that afternoon, a mere few hours ago. Victor mentally slapped his own face. _Get it together. Be cool. Ice cool._

_...don't make jokes like that in front of Yuuri._

He went to top up his drink just so he wouldn't be staring at the door when Yuuri and Phichit came down. He was rather looking forward to seeing Yuuri dressed up. _Bless you, Chris._

The first he heard of their entrance, therefore, was Mila's squeak. “Oh my god! You look amazing.”

“Sorry we're late, kids,” Phichit said cheerily, not sounding in the least bit sorry. “Had to take a photo.”

“He means, ten thousand hundred million trillion photos.” Yuuri deadpanned behind him.

Victor turned to look at the pair.

And nearly dropped his wine glass completely.

“We didn't really bring any fancy clothes,” said Phichit, “so we just kind of dressed fancily. Hope that's okay!”

Victor felt immediately terribly over- and terribly under-dressed. Yuuri and Phichit were both dressed in black jeans, both belonging to Phichit if the tightness of them over Yuuri's thighs was anything to go by – _bless Phichit_ – and Phichit wore a red, plunging satin shirt. A subtle cat flick swept up from his eyes, and glitter dusted his cheekbones gold. He wore a black feather in his hair, which curled into the air and on anyone else would have looked absolutely ridiculous, but Phichit managed to pull it off through sheer exuberance. Yuuri wore a black shirt, which would have been formal if it wasn't for the fact that it was a little shiny, and entirely transparent. Underneath – luckily for Victor's blood pressure, and health generally – he wore a black vest. The sharp lines of his well-defined arms were clearly visible, and Victor swallowed hard. Yuuri had gelled his hair back, and worn contacts, his dark sloe-shaped eyes bright and ringed with the tiniest hint of shadowy kohl. His cheekbones were dusted with silver, and under the corner of one eye there was a tiny silver star. He looked more confident than he'd looked since… Glastonbury, and it made Victor nervous.

“Can I get you drinks?” he said, proud that his voice betrayed only the barest of wobbles.

And when he handed Yuuri a flute of sparking wine, he didn't think he was imagining the heat in the other man's gaze, the tip of a pink tongue flicking out before Yuuri said a delightfully-accented “Thank you.”

Chris emerged from the kitchen, carrying an enormous plate of elegant little starters. “Sit, sit! Food!”

Before he'd even finished speaking, Yuri was sat at the table, napkin on his knees.

**

Victor ended up sat across the table from Yuuri, Chris on one side of him and Mila on the other. It was a position that had several pros – he could see Yuuri very well – but also some cons: Yuuri could see him very well. Victor was currently trying to remember how to eat soup with some semblance of decorum, having seemingly forgotten how to hold a spoon.

Yuuri met his eyes as he took a mouthful of his own soup, long fingers delicately curled around the handle of his spoon in what was definitely the correct manner.

Victor breathed in too quickly and choked. Mila hit him on the back.

“Ugh.” Yuri said, through a mouthful of soup. “Reminsh meov vegranpreey – “

“Don't speak with your mouth full.” Mila said. “Say that again?”

Phichit's eyes, however, had widened with alarm, and he stiffened in his seat next to Yuuri.

“I SAID,” Yuri said belligerently, “It reminds me of the Grand Prix banquet.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I wish you'd been there,” Chris said in a slightly high-pitched voice to Phichit. “Would have made it far more fun.”

“Next year!” Phichit promised, simultaneously giving Yuri a death glare.

There was a pause.

“It wasn't any great shakes, really.” Yuuri said.

Then he amended. “Well, not for me anyway. I didn't really know anyone that well so I just kept myself to myself and stood by the drinks table.” He lifted his glass casually to his lips, like he hadn't just shattered Victor's heart in two.

Yuri's jaw was on the table. Deep confusion was visible on everyone's faces, bar Chris and Phichit who merely looked a little stricken. Yuuri looked up into the silence. His brow furrowed. “Sorry!” he said, contritely. “I'm sure it is a good party, I just--”

“You don't remember speaking to anyone?” Sara said, blankly.

A light went off audibly in Yuri P's brain. “Oh my _fucking_ god,” he said, and banged his head against the table.

“Um, you did speak to quite a few people, actually.” said Mila, carefully.

“Ah no!” Yuuri laughed. “I was very boring, I just stood on my own and… drank... champagne.” As he got to the end of the sentence, he became increasingly white, a look of horror dawning.

“Oh my god, was I hammered?”

“We had a fucking _dance battle_ , you really don't remember?”

“You danced with me and Mila.”

“And me,” Chris put in.

“You walked up ito me and asked if I could rap,” Emil said.

“You danced with _me_ ,” Victor said, dumbfoundedly. “For _hours._ Do you want to see the pictures?”

“I've seen them,” Phichit said apologetically. “They're _dirty.”_

Yuuri buried his face in his hands, his ears having turned from white to flaming red.

“Oh my _god._ ”

“It was the best banquet I've ever been to,” Mila said. “We all left wanting to party with Yuuri Katsuki forever.”

Yuuri groaned. “I'm sorry!”

“Shush!” Sara said, scoldingly. “You made everything so much more fun.”

“You weren't embarrassing,” Emil said reassuringly.

“Just a bit… lively.” Mickey said. “Which isn't bad!” his sister emphasised.

“Well!” Chris said. “That was fun. Any more revelations, while we're at it?”

Phichit made eye contact with Yuuri, who had raised his head by this time. A telepathic conversation was had.

“Ugh. Fine. Yes.” Yuuri said, with a resigned wave of his hand.

“Well, it's kind of a secret because we're not really meant to work in our off season –“ Phichit began. “Celestino would skin us alive.” Yuuri put in.

“But, um, me and Yuuri perform at festivals and Yuuri said you might have seen us at Glastonbury? I breathe fire and Yuuri does aerial silks.”

So that was why Yuuri had kept it quiet, thought Victor; he could empathise completely with the fear of an angry coach.

There was a general ripple of excitement: “Will you breathe fire for us?” Sara said enthusiastically. Mila was quiet, dots appearing to connect in her head. Victor didn't entirely like the way she was smiling at him.

Yuri also appeared to be connecting the dots, if the rage creeping over his face was any indication. “You mean it was the SAME--”

Mila put a hand over his mouth just in time to avoid telling Yuuri jut how long (and how badly) Victor had been pining over him.

_Bless Mila._


End file.
